Chapter IX (3)

Of the prose authorities, besides Lupton, and Sir Kenelm Digby mentioned in the notes of the Variorum Edition of our author, Lavaterus, Reginald Scot, and King James may be quoted, as reposing an implicit faith in the miracle. The _first_ of these writers tells us, in his English dress, of 1572, that "some men beeing slayne by theeves, when the theeves come to the dead body, by and by there gusheth out freshe blood, or else there is declaration by other tokens, that the theefe is there present;" and he then adds, "touching these and other such marvellous things there might be many histories and testimonies alleaged. But whosoever readeth this booke, may call to their remembraunce, that they have scene these and suche like things themselves, or that they have heard them of their freends and acquaintaunce and of such as deserve sufficient credit."[373:B] The _second_, in 1584, justifying what he terms common experience, says, "I have heard by credible report, and I have read many grave authors constantlie affirme, that the wound of a man murthered reneweth bleeding; at the presence of a deere freend, or of a mortall enimie[373:C];" and the third, in 1603, asserts, that "in a secret murther, if the dead carkasse bee at any time thereafter handled by the murtherer, it will gush out of bloud, as if the bloud were crying to the heaven for revenge of the murtherer, God having appointed that secret supernaturall signe, for triall of that secret unnaturall crime."[373:D]

The influence of sympathy or _affection_ as it was termed, at the period of which we are writing, over the passions and feelings of the human mind, is curiously, though correctly exemplified by the poet, in the character of Shylock, who tells the Duke—

"Some men there are, love not a gaping pig;
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose,
Cannot contain their urine; for _affection_,
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes and loaths."[374:A]

Another sympathy mentioned by Shakspeare, but of a nature wholly superstitious, relates to the Mandrake, a vegetable, the root of which was supposed to be endued with animal life, and to shriek so horribly when drawn out of the ground, as to occasion madness, and even death, in those who made the attempt:—

—————— "What with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;
O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught?"[374:B]

exclaims Juliet; and Suffolk, in King Henry the Sixth, declares that every joint of his body should curse and ban his enemies,

"Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan."[374:C]

To avoid these dreadful effects, it was the custom of those who collected this root, to compel some animal to be the instrument of extraction, and consequently the object of punishment. "They doe affyrme," says Bulleine, "that this herbe (the Mandragora) commeth of the seede of some convicted dead men: and also without the death of some lyvinge thinge it cannot be drawnen out of the earth to man's use. Therefore they did tye some dogge or other lyving beast unto the roote thereof wyth a corde, and digged the earth in compasse round about, and in the meane tyme stopp'd their own eares for feare of the terrible shriek and cry of this Mandrack. In whych cry it doth not only dye itselfe, but the feare thereof kylleth the dogge or beast which pulleth it out of the earth."[374:D]

One of the most fantastic sympathies which yet lingers in the popular creed, is founded on the idea that when a person is seized with a sudden shivering, some one is walking over his future grave. "Probably," remarks Mr. Grose, "all persons are not subject to this sensation; otherwise the inhabitants of those parishes, whose burial grounds lie in the common foot-path, would live in one continual fit of shaking."[375:A]

Of all the modes of sympathetic credulity, however, none was more prevalent in the reign of James the First, than that which pretended to the cure of wounds and diseases; no stronger proof, indeed, can be given of the credulity of that age, than that Bacon was a believer in the sympathetic cure of warts[375:B], and, with James and his court, in the efficacy of Sir Kenelm Digby's sympathetic powder. To this far-famed medicine, the secret of which King James obtained from Sir Kenelm, it is said, by the Knight himself, in his Discourse on Sympathy, that Mr. James Howel, the well-known author of the Letters, was indebted for a cure, when his hand was severely wounded in endeavouring to part two of his friends engaged in a duel. The King, out of regard to Howel, sent him his own surgeon; but a gangrene being apprehended, from the violence of the inflammation, the sufferer was induced to apply to Sir Kenelm, of whose mode of treatment he had heard the most wonderful accounts.

"I asked him," relates Digby, "for any thing that had the blood upon it; so he presently sent for his garter, wherewith his hand was first bound; and as I called for a bason of water, as if I would wash my hands, I took a handfull of powder of vitriol, which I had in my study, and presently dissolved it. As soon as the bloody garter was brought me, I put it within the bason, observing in the interim, what Mr. Howel did, who stood talking with a gentleman in a corner of my chamber, not regarding at all what I was doing; but he started suddenly as if he had found some strange alteration in himself. I asked him what he ailed? 'I know not what ailes me; but I finde that I feel no more pain. Methinks that a pleasing kinde of freshnesse, as it were a wet cold napkin, did spread over my hand, which hath taken away the inflammation that tormented me before.' I reply'd, 'Since then that you feel already so good effect of my medicament, I advise you to cast away all your playsters; only keep the wound clean, and in a moderate temper betwixt heat and cold.' This was presently reported to the Duke of Buckingham, and a little after to the king, who were both very curious to know the circumstance of the businesse, which was, that after dinner I took the garter out of the water, and put it to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, but Mr. Howel's servant came running that his master felt as much burning as ever he had done, if not more: for the heat was such as if his hand were twixt coles of fire. I answered, although that had happened at present, yet he should find ease in a short time; for I knew the reason of this new accident, and would provide accordingly; for his master should be free from that inflammation, it may be before he could possibly return to him: but in case he found no ease, I wished him to come presently back again; if not, he might forbear coming. Thereupon he went; and at the instant I did put again the garter into the water, thereupon he found his master without any pain at all. To be brief, there was no sense of pain afterward; but within five or six dayes the wounds were cicatrized, and entirely healed."[376:A]

To this marvellous cure, which may in truth be attributed to the dismission of the plasters, we may add that a similar sanative and sympathetic power was conceived to subsist between the wounds and the instrument which inflicted them. Thus anointing the weapon with a salve, or stroking it in a peculiar manner, had an immediate effect on the wounded person. "They can remedie," says Scot, "anie stranger, and him that is absent, with that _verie sword_ wherewith they are wounded. Yea, and that which is beyond all admiration, if they stroke the sworde upwards with their fingers, the partie shall feele no paine: whereas if they drawe their finger downewards thereupon, the partie wounded shall feele intollerable paine."[377:A]

Independent of the superstitions which we have thus classed under distinct heads, there remain several to be noticed, not clearly referrible to any part of the above arrangement; but which cannot with propriety be omitted. These may, therefore, be collected under the term MISCELLANEOUS, which will be found to include many curious particulars, in no slight degree illustrative of the subject under consideration.

In the _Tempest_, towards the close of the fourth act, the poet represents Prospero and Ariel setting on spirits, in the shape of hounds, to hunt Stephano and Trinculo, while, at the same time, a noise of hunters is heard.[377:B] This species of diabolical or spectral chase was a popular article of belief, and is mentioned or alluded to in many of the numerous books which were written, during this period, on devils and spectres. Lavaterus, treating of the various modes in which spirits act, says, "heereunto belongeth those things which are reported touching the _chasing or hunting of Divels_, and also of the daunces of dead men, which are of sundrie sortes. I have heard of some which have avouched, that they have seene them[377:C];" and in a translation from the French of Peter de Loier's _Treatise of Spectres_, published in 1605, a chase of this kind is mentioned under the appellation of _Arthur's Chace_, "which many," observes this writer, "believe to be in France, and think that it is a kennel of black dogs, followed by unknown huntsmen, with an exceeding great sound of horns, as if it was a very hunting of some wild beast."[377:D]

Of a chase of this supernatural description, Boccacio, in the fourteenth century, made an admirable use in his terrific tale of Theodore and Honoria; a narrative which has received new charms and additional horrors from the masterly imitation of Dryden; and in our own days the same impressive superstition has been productive of a like effect in the spirited ballad of Burger.

The hell-hounds of Shakspeare appear to be sufficiently formidable; for, not merely commissioned to hunt their victims, they are ordered, likewise, as goblins, to

———————— "grind their joints
With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews
With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them,
Than pard, or cat o'mountain.
Hark, (_exclaims Ariel_) they roar.

_Prospero._ Let them be hunted soundly."[378:A]

The punishments which our poet has assigned to sinners in the infernal regions, are most probably founded on the fictions of the monks, who, not content with the infliction of mere fire as a source of torment, condemn the damned to suffer the alternations of heat and cold; to experience the cravings of extreme hunger and thirst, and to be driven by whirlwinds through the immensity of space. In correspondence with these legendary horrors, are the descriptions attributed to Claudio in _Measure for Measure_, and to the Ghost in _Hamlet_:—

"_Claudio._ Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot:
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To _bathe in fiery floods_, or to reside,
_In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice_;
To be _imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world_; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling!—'tis too horrible!"[379:A]

————— "I am thy father's spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;
And, for the day, _confined to fast in fires_,
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away."[379:B]

Imagery somewhat similar to this may be found in the vulgar Latin version of Job xxiv. 19.[379:C], and in the Inferno and Purgatorio of Dante[379:D]; but Shakspeare had sufficient authorities in his own language. An old homily, quoted by Dr. Farmer, speaking of the pains of hell, says "the fyrste is fyre that ever brenneth, and never gyveth lighte; the seconde is passying cold, that yf a greate hylle of fyre were cast therein, it shold torne to yce[379:E];" and Chaucer, in his _Assemblie of Foules_, describing the situation of souls in hell, declares that

—— "breakers of the lawe, sothe to saine,
And lickerous folke, after that they been dede
_Shall whirle about the world_, alway in paine
Till many a world be passed."[379:F]

The same doctrine is taught in that once popular and curious old work _The Shepherd's Calendar_, which so frequently issued from the presses of Wynkyn De Worde, Pynson, and Julian Notary. Among the torments of the damned, the first enumerated

——— "is fire so hote to rekenne
That no manere of thynge may slekenne,
The secunde is colde as seith some
That no hete of fire may over come;"

and Lazarus, describing the punishment of the ENVIOUS, says,—"I have seen in hell a flood frozen as ice, wherein the _envious_ men and women were plunged unto the navel; and then suddenly came over them a right cold and a great wind, that grieved and pained them right sore, and when they would evite and eschew the wonderful blasts of the wind, they plunged into water with great shouts and cries, lamentable to hear[380:A];" and again in the eighteenth chapter of the same work, it is related, as the reward of them that keep the ten commandments of the Devil, that

—— "a _great froste_ in a water rounes
And after a _bytter wynde_ comes
Whiche gothe through the soules with yre."

In the _Songes and Sonnets_, also, by Lord Surrey, and others, which were first published in 1557, the pains of hell are depicted as partaking of the like vicissitude:—

"The soules that lacked grace
Which lye in bitter paine,
Are not in suche a place,
As foolish folke do faine;

Tormented all with _fyre_,
And boyle in leade againe—

Then cast in _frozen pites_,
To _freze_ there certein howres."[380:B]

Hunger and thirst, as forming part of the sufferings of the damned, are alluded to by Chaucer in his Parson's Tale[381:A], and by Nash in one of his numerous pamphlets: "Whether," says he, speaking of hell, "it be a place of horror, stench, and darkness, where men see _meat, but can get none, and are ever thirsty_."[381:B]

Heywood in his _Hierarchie of Angels_[381:C], and Milton in his _Paradise Lost_, have adopted Claudio's description of the infernal abode with regard to the interchange of heat and cold; the picture which the latter has drawn completely fills up the outline of Shakspeare:—

"Beyond —— a frozen continent
Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms
Of whirlwind and dire hail——
Thither by harpy-footed furies hal'd,
At certain revolutions, all the damn'd
Are brought; and feel by turns the bitter change
Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce,
From beds of raging fire, to starve in ice
Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine
Immovable, infix'd, and frozen round,
Periods of time, thence hurried back to fire."[381:D]

The Platonic doctrine or superstition relative to the harmony of the spheres, and of the human soul, was a favourite embellishment, both in prose and poetry, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Spenser, Shakspeare, Hooker, Milton, have all adopted it as a mode of illustration, and it forms, in the works of our great Dramatist, one of his most splendid and beautiful passages:

"How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
_There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it_."[382:A]

The opinion of Plato, as expressed in the tenth book of his _Republic_[382:B] and in his _Timæus_, represents the music of the spheres as so rapid, sweet, and variously inflected, as to exceed all power in the human ear to measure its proportions, and consequently it is not to be heard of man, while resident in this fleshly mould. The same species of harmony is averred by Hooker[382:C] and Shakspeare to reside in the human soul; but, says the latter, "whilst this muddy vesture of decay doth grossly close this musick in, we cannot hear it:" that is, whilst the soul is immured in the body, it is neither conscious of its own harmony, nor of that existing in the spheres; but no sooner shall it be freed from this incumbrance, and become a _pure spirit_, than it shall be sensible both to its _own concord of sweet sounds_, and to that _diapason_ or concentus which is addressed by the nine muses or syrens to the Supreme Being,

"That undisturbed song of _pure concent_,
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne,
To _Him_ that sits thereon."[382:D]

Of the various superstitions relative to the _Moon_, which prevailed in the days of Shakspeare, a few are still retained. The most common is that founded on the idea of a human creature being imprisoned in this beautiful planet. The culprit was generally supposed to be the sinner recorded in Numbers, chap. xv. v. 32., who was found gathering sticks upon the sabbath day; a crime to which Chaucer has added the iniquity of theft; for he describes this singular inhabitant as

"Bearing a bush of thornes on his backe,
Which for his _theft_ might clime no ner the heven."[383:A]

The Italians, however, appropriate this luminary for the residence of Cain, and one of their early poets even speaks of the planet under the term of _Caino e le spine_.[383:B] Shakspeare, with his usual attention to propriety of character, attributes a belief in this superstition to the monster Caliban:

"_Calib._ Hast thou not dropped from heaven?

_Steph._ Out o'the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man in the
moon, when time was.

_Cal._ I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee;
My mistress shewed me thee, thy dog and bush."[383:C]

The influence of the moon over diseases bodily and intellectual; its virtue in all magical rites; its appearances as predictive of evil and good, and its power over the weather and over many of the minor concerns of life, such as the gathering of herbs, the killing of animals for the table, &c. &c. were much more firmly and universally accredited in the sixteenth century than at present; although we must admit, that traces of all these credulities may still be found; and that in medical science, the doctrine of lunar influence still, and to a certain extent, perhaps with probability, exists.

Shakspeare addresses the moon as the "sovereign mistress of true melancholy[383:D];" tells us, that when "she comes more near to the earth than she was wont," she "makes men mad[383:E];" and that, when she is "pale in her anger—rheumatic diseases do abound."[384:A] He tells us, also, through the medium of Hecate, that

"Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound"

of power to compel the obedience of infernal spirits[384:B]; and that its eclipses[384:C], its sanguine colour[384:D], and its apparent multiplication[384:E], are certain prognostics of disaster.

To kill hogs, to collect herbs, and to sow seed, when the moon was increasing, was deemed a most essential observance; the bacon was better, the plants more effective, and the crops more abundant in consequence of this attention. Implicit confidence was also placed in the new moon as a prognosticator of the weather, according to its position, or the curvature of its horns; and it was hailed by blessings and supplications; the women especially, both in England and Scotland, were accustomed to curtesy to the new moon, and on the first night of its appearance the unmarried part of the sex would frequently, sitting astride on a gate or stile, invoke its influence in the following curious terms:—

"All hail to the Moon, all hail to thee,
I prithee good Moon declare to me,
This night who my husband shall be."

The credulity of the country was particularly directed at this period, including the close of the sixteenth century, and the beginning of the seventeenth century, towards the numerous relations of the existence of MONSTERS of various kinds; and Shakspeare, who more than any other poet, availed himself of the superstitious follies of his time, hath repeatedly both introduced, and satirized, these objects, as articles of, and exciters of the popular belief. His Caliban, a monster of his own creation, and, poetically considered, one of the most striking products of his imagination, will be noticed at length in another place, and we shall here confine ourselves to his description of the monsters which, as objects of historical record, had lately become the theme of credulous wonder, and general speculation.

Othello, in his speech before the senators, familiarly alludes to

—— "the Cannibals that each other eat,
The _Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders_:"[385:A]

and Gonzaga, in the _Tempest_, exclaims:

"Who would believe that there were mountaineers,
_Dewlapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them
Wallets of flesh_? or that there were such _men,
Whose heads stood in their breasts_."[385:B]

These monsters, and many others, which had been described in the editions of Maundeville's Travels, published by Wynkyn De Worde and Pynson in 1499-1503, &c. were revived, with fresh claims to belief, by the voyagers and natural historians of the poet's age. In 1581, Professor Batman printed his "Doome, warning all men to the judgemente," in which not only the _Anthropophagi, who eat man's flesh_, are mentioned, but various other races, such as the _Œthiopes_ with four eyes, the _Hippopodes_, with their nether parts like horses, the _Arimaspi_ with one eye in the forehead, &c. &c., and to these he adds "men called _Monopoli_, who _have no head, but a face in their breaste_."[385:C] In 1596 these marvels were corroborated by Sir Walter Ralegh's _Discoverie of Guiana_[385:D], an empire, which, he affirms, was productive of a similar generation; and Hackluyt, in 1598, tells us that, "on that branch which is called Caora, are a nation of a people _whose heades appeare not above their shoulders_: they are reported to have their eyes in their shoulders, and their mouthes in the middle of their breasts."

With the mere English scholar, classical authority was given to these tales by Philemon Holland's Translation of Pliny's Natural History in 1601, where are the following descriptions both of the _Anthropophagi_ and of the men _whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders_:—"The Anthropophagi or eaters of man's flesh whom we have placed about the North pole, tenne daies journey by land above the river Borysthenes, use to drinke out of the sculs of men's heads, and to weare the scalpes, haire and all, in steed of mandellions or stomachers before their breasts."[386:A] "The Blemmyi, by report, have no heads, but mouth and eies both in their breast[386:B];" and again, "beyond these westward, some there bee without heads standing upon their neckes, who carrie eies in their shoulders."[386:C]

It is, also, very probable that the attention of Shakspeare was still further drawn to these headless monsters by the labours of the engraver; for in Este's edition of Maundeville's Travels, an attempt is made to delineate one of these deformities, who is represented with the eyes, nose, and mouth situated on the breast and stomach; and in a translation of Ralegh's Guiana into Latin, by Hulse, in 1599, a similar plate is given.[386:D]

That our author viewed this partiality in the public mind for wonders and strange spectacles, with a smile of contempt, and was willing to seize an opportunity for ridiculing the mania, appears evident from a passage in his _Tempest_, where Trinculo, discovering Caliban extended on the ground, supposes him to be a species of fish, and observes, "Were I in England now (as once I was) and had but this _fish_ painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian."[387:A]

_Wild Indians_, _curious fishes_, and _crocodiles_, seem to have been singularly numerous in London at this epoch, having been brought thither by several of our enterprising navigators; and by those who crowded from every part of the country to view them, many superstitious marvels were connected with their natural history. Of _three_ or _four savages_ which Frobisher took in his first voyage, one, we are told, "for very choler and disdain bit his tong in twaine within his mouth: notwithstanding he died not thereof, but lived untill he came in Englande, and then he died of colde, which he had taken at sea[387:B];" the survivors, there is every reason to suppose, were exhibited; for in the year 1577, there was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company, "A description of the portrayture and shape of those strange kinde of people which the worthie Mr. Martin Fourbosier brought into England in Ao 1576[387:C];" and Mr. Chalmers relates, that "Lord Southampton, and Sir Francis Gorges, engaging in voyages of discovery, sent out, in 1611, two vessels under the command of Harlie, and Nicolas, who sailed along the New England coast, where they were sometimes well, and often ill, received, by the natives; and returned to England, in the same year, with _five savages_, on board. In 1614, Captain Smith carried out to New England one of those savages, named _Tantum_; Captains Harlie and Hopson transported, in the same year, two others of those savages, called _Epenow_, and _Manawet_; one of those savages adventured to the European continent; and the _fifth Indian_, of whom no account is given, we may easily suppose died in London, and was exhibited for a show."[387:D]

We learn from a publication of Churchyard's in 1578, that Frobisher's crew found a "_straunge fish_ dead, that had been caste from the sea on the shore, who had a boane in his head like an Unicorne, which they brought awaye, and presented to our Prince, when thei came home[388:A];" and from the Stationers' Books, that, in 1604, an account was printed "of a monstrous _fish_, that appeared in the form of a woman from her waist upward, seene in the sea."[388:B] That the credulity of the public in Elizabeth's days was remarkably great in swallowing the most marvellous details in natural history, is proved by a curious scene in the "City Match" of Jasper Mayne, which, though first acted in 1639, refers to the age of Elizabeth, as to a period fertile in these wondrous exhibitions. A set of knaves are described as _hanging out the picture of a strange fish_, which they affirm is the _fifth_ they have shown; and the following dialogue takes place relative to the inscription on the place which included the monster:—

"_Holland._ Pray, can you read that? Sir, I warrant
That tells where it was caught, and what fish 'tis.

_Plotwell._ _Within this place is to be seen,
A wonderous fish. God save——the Queen._

_Hol._ Amen! She is my customer, and I
Have sold her bone-lace often.

_Bright._ Why the Queen? 'Tis writ the King.

_Plot._ That was to make the rhime.

_Bright._ 'Slid, thou did'st read it as twere some picture of
An _Elizabeth-fish_."[388:C]

A boy is then introduced, who sings a song upon the fish, commencing with these lines:

"We show no monstrous _crocodile_,
Nor any prodigy of Nile;"[389:A]

which again alludes to the monster-loving propensities of good Queen Bess's subjects; for Batman in his work upon Bartholome, published in 1582, says,—"Of late years there hath been brought into England, the cases or skinnes of such _crocodiles_, to be seene, and much money given for the sight thereof; the policy of strangers," he adds, in the spirit of Shakspeare, "laugh at our folly, either that we are too wealthy, or else that we know not how to bestow our money[389:B];" and Bullokar, in his _English Expositor_ of 1616, confirms the charge by telling us, that a dead _crocodile_, "but in perfect forme," and nine feet long, had lately been exhibited in London, a fact to which he annexes the following tradition:—"It is written," he remarks, "that he will weep over a man's head when he hath devoured the body, and then he will eat up the head too. Wherefore—crocodiles tears signifie such tears as are fained, and spent only with intent to deceive or doe harme."[389:C] Of this superstition Shakspeare has made a poetical use in two of his dramas: Margaret in _Henry VI._ Part 2. complains that Gloucester beguiles the king,

—————— "as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers:"[389:D]

and Othello, execrating the supposed duplicity of Desdemona, exclaims,

"If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile."[389:E]

Many superstitions relative to the DYING, existed at this time, among all ranks of people, and a few of these have been preserved by our poet. One of the most general was built on the belief, that Satan, or some of his infernal host, watched the death-bed of every individual, and, if impenitence or irreligion appeared, immediately took possession of the soul. The death-scene of Cardinal Beaufort is an admirable exemplification of this appalling idea; Henry is appealing to the Almighty in behalf of the agonised sinner, and utters the following pious petition:—

"O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair!"[390:A]

The powerful delineation of this scene from the pencil of Sir Joshua Reynolds, in which the "meddling fiend" is personified in all his terrors, must be considered in strict accordance with the credulity of the age; for "in an ancient manuscript book of devotions," relates Mr. Douce, "written in the reign of Henry VI., there is a prayer addressed to Saint George, with the following very singular passage: 'Judge for me whan the moste hedyous and damnable dragons of helle shall be redy to take my poore soule and engloute it in to theyr infernall belyes'[390:B];" and the books on demonology and spirits, written in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, clearly prove that this relic of popish superstition was still a portion of the popular creed.

Another singular conception was, that it was necessary in the agonies of death, to

"Pluck—men's pillows from below their heads,"[390:C]

in order that they might die the easier; a practice founded on the ridiculous supposition that, if pigeons' feathers formed a part of the materials of the pillow, it was impossible the sufferer should expire but in great misery, and that he would probably continue to struggle for a prodigious length of time in exquisite torture.

It was common at this period, and the practice, indeed, continued until the middle of the last century, to consider WELLS and FOUNTAINS as peculiarly sacred and holy, and to visit them as a species of pilgrimage, or for the healing virtues which superstition had fondly attributed to them. Many of these wells, which had been much frequented in London, during the days of Fitzstephen, were closed, or neglected, when Stowe wrote[391:A]; but in the _country_ the habit of resorting to such springs, and for purposes similar to those which existed in papal times, was generally preserved. Bourne, who published in 1725, speaks in language peculiarly descriptive of this superstitious regard for wells and fountains, not only as it was observed in ancient times, but at the period in which he lived. "In the dark ages of popery," he says, "it was a custom, if any _well_ had an awful situation, and was seated in some lonely melancholy vale; if its water was clear and limpid, and beautifully margin'd with the tender grass; or if it was look'd upon, as having a medicinal quality; to gift it to some _Saint_, and honour it with his name. Hence it is that we have at this day wells and fountains called, some _St. John's, St. Mary Magdalen's, St. Mary's Well, &c._

"To these kind of wells, the common people are accustomed to go, on a summer's evening, to refresh themselves with a walk after the toil of the day, to drink the water of the fountain, and enjoy the pleasing prospect of shade and stream.

"Now this custom (though, _at this time of day_, very commendable, and harmless, and innocent) seems to be the remains of that superstitious practice of the Papists, of paying adoration to wells and fountains; for they imagined there was some holiness and sanctity in them, and so worshipped them."[392:A]

It was in the north especially, where Mr. Bourne resided, that wells of this description were most frequently to be found, possessing the advantages of a romantic situation, and preserved with care through the influence of the traditionary legends of the neighbouring village; for these retreats were supposed to be the haunts of fairies and good spirits who were accustomed to meet

—————— "in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook."[392:B]

At these wells offerings were frequently made, either owing to the conceived sanctity of the place, or from gratitude for imagined benefit received through the waters of the spring; and as those who had recourse to these fountains were usually of the lower class, small pieces of money were given, or even _rags_ suspended on the trees or bushes which overhung the stream; whence these fountains in many places obtained the name of _Rag-wells_. One thus termed is mentioned, by Mr. Brand, as still exhibiting these tributary shreds at the village of Benton near Newcastle; Mr. Pennant records two at Spey and Drachaldy in Scotland; and Mr. Shaw tells us, that in the province of Moray _pilgrimages to wells_ are not yet obsolete.[393:A] In many places in the North, indeed, there are wells still remaining which were manifestly intended for the refreshment of the way-worn traveller, and are yet held in veneration. We have seen some of these with ladles of brass affixed to the stone-work by a chain, a convenience probably as ancient as the Anglo-Saxon era.

Several traditions of a peculiarly superstitious hue, have been cherished in this country with regard to the _bird-tribe_, and most of them have been introduced by our great poet as accessory either to the terrible, or the pathetic. The ominous croaking of the raven and the crow have been already mentioned, and we shall therefore, under the present head, merely advert to a few additional notices relative to the _owl_ and the _ruddock_, the former the supposed herald of horror and disaster, the latter the romantic minister of charity and pity.

To the fearful bodings of the clamorous owl, which we have already introduced when treating of omens, may now be added a superstition which formerly rendered this unlucky bird the peculiar dread of mothers and nurses. It was firmly believed, that the screech-owl was in the habit of destroying infants by sucking out their blood and breath as they laid in the cradle. "Lamiæ," observes Lavaterus, "are things that make children afrayde. Lamiæ are also called _Striges_. _Striges_ (as they saye) are unluckie-birds, whiche sucke out the blood of infants lying in their cradles. And hereof some men will have witches take their name, who also are called [393:B]_Volaticæ_." This credulity relative to the Strix or screech-owl may be traced to Ovid[394:A], and is alluded to by Shakspeare in the following lines:—

"We talk of goblins, _owls_, and elvish sprites;
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
They'll _suck out breath_, and pinch us black and blue."[394:B]

Another strange legend in the history of the owl is put into the mouth of the hapless Ophelia:—

"Well, God 'ield you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter;"[394:C]

a metamorphosis of which Mr. Douce has given us the origin; he tells us that it is yet a common story among the vulgar in Gloucestershire, and is thus related:—"Our Saviour went into a baker's shop where they were baking, and asked for some bread to eat. The mistress of the shop immediately put a piece of dough into the oven to bake for him; but was reprimanded by her daughter, who insisting that the piece of dough was too large, reduced it to a very small size. The dough, however, immediately afterwards began to swell, and presently became of a most enormous size. Whereupon the baker's daughter cried out 'Heugh, heugh, heugh,' which owl-like noise, probably induced our Saviour for her wickedness to transform her into that bird." He adds that this story was often related to children, in order to deter them from such illiberal behaviour to poor people.[394:D]

The partiality shown to the _ruddock_ or _red-breast_ seems to have been founded on the popular ballad of _The Children in the Wood_, and the play of _Cymbeline_. The charitable office, however, which these productions have ascribed to _Robin_, has an earlier origin than their date; for in Thomas Johnson's _Cornucopia_, 4to. 1596, it is related that "the robin redbrest if he find a man or woman dead, will cover all his face with mosse, and some thinke that if the body should remaine unburied that he would cover the whole body also."[395:A] It is highly probable that this anecdote might give birth to the burial of the babes, whom no one heeded,

"Till _Robin-red-breast_ painfully
Did _cover them with leaves_;"

for, according to Dr. Percy[395:B], this pathetic narrative was built upon a play published by Rob. Yarrington in 1601. It is likewise possible that the same passage occasioned the beautiful lines in the play of _Cymbeline_, performed about 1606, where Arviragus, mourning over Imogen, exclaims—

—————— "With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the _ruddock_ would,
With charitable bill—bring thee _all this_;
Yea, and furr'd _moss_ besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse."[395:C]

These interesting pictures of the red-breast would alone be sufficient to create an affectionate feeling for him; the attachment however has been ever since kept alive by delineations of a similar kind. In our author's time Drayton, Webster, and Dekker, have all alluded to this pleasing tradition: the first in his _Owl_ 1604—

"Cov'ring with moss the deads unclosed eye,
The little _red-breast_ teacheth charitie;"[395:D]

the second in his Tragedy, called _The White Devil, or Vittoria Corombona_, 1612—

"Call for the _robin red-breast_ and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men;"[396:A]

and the third in one of his pamphlets printed in 1616—"They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight, are _Robin red-breasts_ that bring strawes in their bils to cover a dead man in extremitie."[396:B]

Some wonderful properties relative to an imaginary gem, called a _carbuncle_, formed likewise a part of the popular creed. It was supposed to be the most transparent of all the precious stones, and to possess a native intrinsic lustre so powerful as to illuminate the atmosphere to a considerable distance around it. It was, therefore, very appositely adopted by the writers of romance, as an ornament and source of light for their subterranean palaces, and almost all our elder poets have gifted it with a similar brilliancy; thus Chaucer, in his _Romaunt of the Rose_[396:C]; Gower, in his _Confessio Amantis_[396:D]; Lydgate, in his _Description of King Priam's Palace_[396:E]; and Stephen Hawes, in his _Pastime of Pleasure_[396:F], have all celebrated it as a kind of second sun, and the most valuable of earthly products. Chaucer, more particularly, mentions it as so clear and bright,—

"That al so sone as it was night,
Men mightin sene to go for nede
A mile, or two in length and brede,
Such light ysprange out of that stone."

That this fiction was credited in the days of Elizabeth and James, may be conceded, not only from the familiar allusions of the poets, but from the philosophic writers on the superstitions of the age. To the _unborrowed_ light of the carbuncle, Shakspeare has referred in _King Henry the Eighth_, where the Princess Elizabeth is prophetically termed,

—————— "a gem
To lighten all this isle;"[397:A]

and in Titus Andronicus, (if that play can be deemed his,) upon the discovery of Bassianus slaughtered in a pit;

"_Martius._ Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,
——like a taper in some monument;"[397:B]

He also mentions this "rich jewel" by way of comparison in Coriolanus[397:C]; appropriates it as an ornament to the wheels of Phœbus's chariot in Cymbeline[397:D]; and in the Player's speech in Hamlet, the eyes of Pyrrhus are said to be "like carbuncles."[397:E]

Drayton describes this fabled stone with nearly as much precision as Chaucer; he calls it

"——— that admired, mighty stone,
The _carbuncle_ that's named;
Which from it such a flaming light
And radiancy ejecteth,
That in the very darkest night
The eye to it directeth."[397:F]

A modern poet, remarkable for his powers of imagination, has beautifully, and very happily availed himself of these marvellous attributes, in describing the magnificent palace of Shedad, a passage which we shall transcribe, as it leads to an illustrative extract from a writer of Shakspeare's age:

"Here self-suspended hangs in air,
As its pure substance loathed material touch,
The living carbuncle;
Sun of the lofty dome,
Darkness has no dominion o'er its beams;
Intense it glows, an ever-flowing tide
Of glory, like the day-flood in its source."

"I have no where seen," says Mr. Southey in a note on these lines, "so circumstantial an account of its (the carbuncle's) wonderful properties as in a passage of Thuanus, quoted by Stephanius in his notes to Saxo-Grammaticus.

"Whilst the King was at Bologna, a stone, wonderful in its species and nature, was brought to him from the East Indies, by a man unknown, who appeared by his manners to be a Barbarian. It sparkled as though all burning, with an incredible splendour; flashing radiance, and shooting on every side its beams, it filled the surrounding air to a great distance with a light scarcely by any eyes endurable. In this also it was wonderful, that being most impatient of the earth, if it was confined, it would force its way, and immediately fly aloft; neither could it be contained by any art of man in a narrow place, but appeared only to love those of ample extent. It was of the utmost purity, stained by no soil nor spot. Certain shape it had none, for its figure was inconstant, and momentarily changing, and though at a distance it was beautiful to the eye, it would not suffer itself to be handled with impunity, but hurt those who obstinately struggled with it, as many persons before many spectators experienced. If by chance any part of it was broken off, for it was not very hard, it became nothing less."[398:A]

An account equally minute, and in terms nearly similar, occurs in Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, 1584, and both were probably taken from the same source, the writings of Fernel or Fernelius. This physician died in 1558; and his description, as copied by Scot, contributed, no doubt, to prolong the public credulity in this kingdom; though the English philosopher attempts to explain the phenomenon by supposing that actual flame was concentrated and burning in the centre of the gem.

"Johannes Fernelius writeth of a strange stone latelie brought out of India, which hath in it such a marvellous brightnes, puritie and shining, that therewith the aire round about is so lightned and cleared, that one may see to read thereby in the darknes of night. It will not be conteined in a close roome, but requireth an open and free place. It would not willingly rest or staie here belowe on the earth, but alwaies laboureth to ascend up into the aire. If one presse it downe with his hand, it resisteth, and striveth verie sharplie. It is beautifull to behold, without either spot or blemish, and yet verie unpleasant to taste or feele. If any part thereof be taken awaie, it is never a whit diminished, the forme thereof being inconstant, and at everie moment mutable."[399:A]

The carbuncle was believed to be an animal substance generated in the body of a serpent, to possess a sexual distinction, the males having a star-formed burning nucleus, while the females dispersed their brilliancy on all sides in a formless blaze; and, like other transparent gems, to have the power of expelling evil spirits.

While on the subject of superstitious notions relative to luminous bodies, we may remark, that in the age of Shakspeare, the wandering lights, termed _Will-o-wisp_ and _Jack-o-Lantern_, were supposed by the common people to be occasioned by demons and malignant fairies, with the view of leading the benighted traveller to his destruction. "Many tymes," says Lavaterus, "candles and small fiers appeare in the night, and seeme to run up and downe;—those fiers some time seeme to come togither, and by and by to be severed and run abroade, and at the last to vanish clean away. Somtime these fiers go alone in the night season, and put such as see them, as they travel by night, in great fear. But these things, and many suche lyke, have their natural causes: _and yet I will not denye, but that many tymes Dyvels delude men in this manner_."[400:A]

Stephano, in the _Tempest_, attributes this phenomenon to the agency of a mischievous fairy: "Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a harmless fairy, has done little better than _played the Jack with us_."[400:B]

Various causes have been assigned for the appearance of the _ignis fatuus_; modern chemistry asserts it to be occasioned by hydrogen gas, evolving from decaying vegetables, and the decomposition of pyritic coal; and when seen hovering on the surface of burial grounds, to originate from the same gas in a higher state of volatility, through the agency of phosphoric impregnation.

The _partial_ view which we have now taken of the superstitions of the country, as they existed in the age of Shakspeare, will, in part, demonstrate how great was the credulity subsisting at this period; how well calculated were many of these popular delusions for the purposes of the dramatic writer, and how copiously and skilfully have these been moulded and employed by the great poet of our stage. A considerable portion also of the manners, customs, and diversions of the country, which had been necessarily omitted in the preceding chapters, will be found included in this sketch of a part of the popular creed, and will contribute to heighten the effect of a picture, which can only receive its completion through the mutual aid of various subsequent departments of the present work.

FOOTNOTES:

[315:A] Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. iii. p. 496.

[316:A] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. ix. p. 255, 256. Winter's Tale, act ii. sc. 1.

[317:A] "Of Ghostes and spirites walking by nyght, and of strange noyses, crackes, and sundry forewarnynges, whiche commonly happen before the death of menne, great slaughters, and alterations of kyngdomes. One Booke, Written by Lewes Lavaterus of Tigurine. And translated into Englyshe by R. H." Printed at London by Henry Benneyman, for Richard Watkyns, 1572. Vide p. 14. and 49.

[317:B] Lavaterus, p. 21.

[318:A] Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, 1580, p. 152, 153.

[318:B] Vide Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 172.

[318:C] Spectator, No. 419., vol. vi. p. 118. of Sharpe's edition. See also Nos. 12. 110. and 117.

[319:A] Grose's Provincial Glossary, p. 242, 243.

[321:A] Bourne's Antiquities of the Common People apud Brand, p. 113, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123.

[321:B] Seasons, Winter, line 617.

[322:A] Pleasures of Imagination, book i.

[322:B] The Remains of Henry Kirke White, vol. i. p. 311.

[323:A] Gay, in his Trivia, notices, at some length, the prognostications attendant on these days, and which equally apply to ancient and to modern times:—

"All superstition from thy breast repel;
Let cred'lous boys and prattling nurses tell
How if the _Festival of Paul_ be _clear_,
_Plenty_ from lib'ral horn shall strow the _year_:
When the dark skies dissolve in _snow_ and _rain_,
The lab'ring _kind_ shall _yoke_ the _steer_ in _vain_;
But if the threat'ning _winds_ in tempest roar,
Then _war_ shall bathe her wasteful sword in gore.
How if, on _Swithen_'s feast the welkin lours,
And ev'ry penthouse streams with hasty show'rs,
_Twice twenty days_ shall clouds their fleeces drain,
And wash the pavements with _incessant rain_:
Let no such vulgar tales debase thy mind,
Nor _Paul_, nor _Swithin_, rule the _clouds_ and _wind_."

[324:A] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. iv. p. 453. Midsummer-Night's Dream, act iv. sc. 1. Buchanan also beautifully records the same traditionary imagery:

"Festa Valentino rediit lux——
Quisque sibi sociam jam legit ales avem.
Inde sibi dominam per sortes quærere in annum
Mansit ab antiquis mos repetitus avis;
Quisque legit dominam, quam casto observet amore,
Quam nitidis sertis obsequioque colat:
Mittere cui possit blandi munuscula Veris."

[325:A] Bourne's Antiquities apud Brand, p. 253.

[326:A] Douce's Illustrations of Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 252, 253.

[326:B] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. xviii. p. 281. Mr. Gay has more distinctly recorded this ceremony in the following lines:—

"Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with mutual chirpings find;
I early rose, just at the break of day,
Before the sun had chas'd the stars away;
Afield I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine (for so should housewives do),
_Thee First_ I spied, and _the first swain we see_
In spite of fortune _shall our true Love be_."

[327:A] "Et vere ad Valentini festum à viris habent fœminæ; munera, et alio temporis viris dantur." Moresini Deprav. Relig. 160.

[327:B] Douce's Illustrations of Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 258.—"I have found unquestionable authority," remarks Mr. Brand, "to evince that the custom of chusing Valentines was a sport practised in the houses of the gentry in England as early as the year 1476." Brand apud Ellis, vol. i. p. 48.

The authority alluded to by Mr. Brand, is a letter, in Fenn's Paston Letters, vol. ii. p. 211., dated February 1476.

[328:A] Survey of London, 1618, p. 159.

[328:B] Ibid.

[328:C] Vide Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, p. 317.

[329:A] "L'origine de ce feu que tant de nations conservent encore, et qui se perd dans l'antiquité, est très simple. C'etoit un feu de joie allumé au moment où l'année commençoit; car la première de toutes les Annes, la plus ancienne donc on ait quelque connoissance, s'ouvroit au mois de Juin.—

"Ces feux-de-joie étoient accompagnés en même tems de Vœux et de sacrifices pour la prospérité de peuples et des biens de la terre: on dansoit aussi autour de ce feu; car ya-t-il quelque fête sans danse? et les plus agiles santoient par dessus. En se retirant, chacun empartoit un tison plus ou moins grand, et le reste étoit jetté au vent, afin qu'il emportât tout malheur comme il emportoit ces cendres." Hist. d'Hercule, p. 203.

[329:B] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. xi. p. 249. act ii. sc. 3.

[329:C] Jonson's Works, act i. sc. 6.

[329:D] Beaumont and Fletcher's Works apud Colman.

[330:A] Chalmers's English Poets, vol. vi. p. 281. Britannia's Pastorals, book ii. song 2.

[330:B] Grose's Provincial Glossary, p. 299.

[330:C] Ibid. p. 285.

[331:A] Bourne's Antiquities, p. 301.

[331:B] Stowe also mentions, that bonefires and rejoicings were observed on the Eve of St. Peter and Paul the Apostles; he gives likewise a curious account of the _Marching Watches_ which had been regularly kept on Midsummer-Eve, time out of mind, by the citizens of London and other large towns; but these had ceased before the age of Shakspeare, the last having been appointed by Sir John Gresham, in 1548, though an attempt was made to procure their revival, by John Montgomery in 1585, who published a book on the subject, dedicated to Sir Thos. Pullison, then Lord Mayor; this offer however did not succeed.

[332:A] Grose's Provincial Glossary, p. 285.

[332:B] Queenhoo-Hall, vol. i. p. 136.

[333:A] Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 103.

[333:B] Jonson's Works, fol. edit. vol. i.

[334:A] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. v. p. 359. act iii. sc. 4.

[334:B] Bourne's Antiquities, p. 320, 321.

[334:C] Vide Job, chap. xxxiii. v. 22, 23.

[335:A] Opera et Dies, vol. i. 246.

[335:B] Dionys. in Cælest. Hierarch. cap. ix. x.

[335:C] Calv. Lib. Instit. I. c. xiv. It is worthy of remark, that Reginald Scot, from whose _Discoverie of Witchcraft_, p. 500., this account of the hierarchy of Dionysius is taken, has brought forward a passage from his kinsman Edward Deering, which broaches the same doctrine as that held by Bishop Horsley in the last sermon which he ever wrote. "If you read Deering," says Scot, "upon the first chapter to the Hebrues, you shall see this matter (the angelic theory of Dionysius) notablie handled; where he saith, _that whensoever archangell is mentioned in the Scriptures it signifieth our saviour Christ, and no creature_." p. 501.—Now in the sermon alluded to by Horsley, the text of which is Dan. iv. 17., he affirms, that the term "Michael," or "Michael the Archangel," wherever it occurs, is nothing more than a name for our Saviour. Vide Sermons, vol. ii. p. 376.